


Commodities of the Abstract Sort

by tocourtdisaster



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:32:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tocourtdisaster/pseuds/tocourtdisaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time it happens, he's walking through his front door at three in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Commodities of the Abstract Sort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gadgetorious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gadgetorious/gifts).



> Written for [gadgetorious](http://gadgetorious.livejournal.com/), who prompted me to write a silly Mycroft/Lestrade meeting. This isn't exactly silly, nor is it shippy, but they _do_ meet. ;) The title's from "Banking on a Myth" by Andrew Bird.

The first time it happens, he's walking through his front door at three in the morning after taking down a major drug trafficking ring about ten times faster than he'd thought he would, all due to the help of one Sherlock Holmes.

Greg is exhausted. They've been on this case for weeks now and it's not like he ever gets enough sleep anyway, but right now it feels as if he hasn't slept in years. If working with Holmes on one case is enough to reduce him to a barely functioning zombie, he can't imagine what he'll be like in a year.

God, had he really agreed to take Holmes on as a civilian consultant?

When he looks back on this moment in the future, he's going to blame that exhaustion for what happens next which, while face-saving in the extreme, isn't exactly true. He's just glad that Amanda could sleep through the second coming because the entire thing is embarrassing enough without his wife as witness.

What happens is this:

Greg steps through the door and tosses his keys towards the bowl that's been on the table for the sole purpose of holding keys for as long as he and Amanda have lived here, his head down and one hand on the wall to hold him up while he toes out of his shoes.

It takes him a ridiculously long amount of time, nearly fifteen seconds, to realize that he hasn't heard the sound of keys hitting ceramic or even the wood of the table if he'd missed the bowl. He raises his head, almost expecting to see his keys floating in midair like some sort of weird poltergeist. What he sees is almost as strange.

A man in a three-piece suit, thinning hair, umbrella held in one hand like a walking stick, his other hand still outstretched where he'd caught Greg's keys in mid-flight. And Greg is just exhausted enough and just shocked enough at this man's appearance that he lets out a squeaky sort of noise that he will deny to the grave that he ever made.

The man gently sets Greg's keys down in the bowl before reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulling out a small notebook not completely dissimilar to the one in Greg's own jacket pocket. "Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade," he reads, upper class accent matching his clothes perfectly. "What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

"He's a civilian consultant for the Met who I've agreed to call in when the occasion warrants," Greg answers promptly, and then curses inwardly for unconsciously responding to the almost palpable air of authority around this strange man standing in his foyer. "What concern of it is yours?"

"Anything concerning Sherlock Holmes is of the utmost importance to me," the man replies, replacing the notebook back in his jacket.

"Yeah, and why's that?" Greg asks, straightening his shoulders and feeling slightly ridiculous without his shoes on. He curls his toes against the hardwood beneath his feet.

"You are aware of Sherlock's recent issues with illegal substances?" the man says instead of answering, not that Greg's surprised in the slightest at this point.

"Yes," he answers, remembers telling Holmes not even an hour ago that if he wanted The Work, then he needed to ditch the drugs. Greg's not under the illusion that it'll be as simple as all that, but at least he'd gotten his point across.

"I believe his professional liaison with your office will be most beneficial in keeping that problem in the past."

"Wait, you think that investigating violent crimes will _help_ Sherlock Holmes stay on the straight and narrow?" It should be a ludicrous idea, but even with as little as Greg knows about Holmes, it might just be the right thing for him.

The man across from him doesn't bother to respond, just tilts his head slightly and gives Greg a look that says that Greg's insufferably dull. It's a look that Holmes had given Greg just this morning and a little kernel of an idea is starting to grow in the back of Greg's mind when the man finally deigns to speak.

"Well, Inspector, this visit has been most illuminating. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other very soon."

With that, the man swings his umbrella up on his shoulder and steps past Greg and the body language is too similar for Greg's hypothesis to be wrong. The man is just stepping through the door and out into the chill night air when Greg turns and calls out, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mister Holmes."

Holmes, because there's no one this man could be but Sherlock Holmes's brother, just chuckles and without turning says, "Yes, we'll be seeing each other _very_ soon."

And then Greg is alone in the foyer and it would be easy to believe that the entire exchange was a figment of Greg's exhausted mind but for the lingering scent of the other man's cologne.

"What have I gotten myself into?" he asks, but the walls don't have an answer.


End file.
